Meet Me at Sundown
by Spliced-up-Angel
Summary: "Stop!" he heard a woman cry in a broken voice, "don't come any closer!" Trent's eyes shot up towards the voice.
1. Chapter 1

**I am such a stupid updater. Sorry, everyone… well, I wrote another story. I will try to update my other stuff, but I have writer's block on ****Stronger**, **I've lost interest in ****Popped**** (I have to think of ideas), and I'm just lazy with ****In It To Win It… Nothing Else****… I have the second chapter of this written, I'm just interested in seeing if anyone shows any interest in this story. I suppose this chapter acts like a prologue or something… Hmmm… I need to write something redundant here… Well, I am obsessed with RENT and Sweeney Todd right now… uhhh… hmmm… Okie, enjoy! ^^**

Meet Me at Sundown 

Chapter I

Trent Monroe, a regular sales associate, sat at his large desk inside his cubicle. He was a tall man. God had been kind enough to make him a charming fellow who had quite the luck with the ladies. His black hair only grazed past his eyebrows and he was clean shaven with nothing more than evening stubble. His emerald eyes were perched down at his paperwork. The cringes in his mouth, which sat on his tan skin, were pointed downwards at the paper. Trent never minded his job too much; he was always busy, but never needed to bring his work home.

Some would think a failed rocker, like himself, who was unable to get more than three gigs at a karaoke bar, would simply give up by now. This didn't phase it at all, however. He was silently practising to one day go big. His work at Sundown Corporations was only a job to support him for the time being.

The buzzing rings of phones being called and answered created the daily atmosphere of Sundown Corporations. The soft spoken secretaries answered the lines in a professional fashion each time, as if rehearsed for their debut movie audition. "Good morning, Mr. Todd." "Have a nice evening, Mrs. Montgomery." The clicks of pens, clacks of computer keys in a rhythmic pace, as if following song notes, were what Trent enjoyed the most. Back then, life might as well have been all roses and rainbows. Trent would soon learn how life could rain on his parade.

"Hey, Trent!" Trent turned his head to see his friend and co-worker, who worked inside his neighbour cubicle. Harold McGrady was a medium height man who not exactly blessed in the looks department. His eyesight was no better than a bat's and he managed only to grow a stubble on his chin. His light orange hair matched his ginger freckles. Yes, he was unattractive; however, this fellow was very intelligent. Harold aspired to become the head CIO of Sundown Corporations. He was merely working his way up the career ladder as our second protagonist.

"Hey, Man. What's up?" Trent asked his friend.

"Cody and I were going to try to get DJ out of the house to go clubbing tonight. You know, like old times?" By old times, Harold meant their high school days. Their high school days consisted of Trent dragging Harold and Cody away from their _Dungeon and Dragons_ meeting and convincing DJ's mom that he _didn't_ have alcohol on him.

Cody Anderson was a shorter man. Gifted with a childish image, which greatly reflected his personality, Cody was gap-toothed with short, brown hair, and a metabolism high enough to scare away any nutritionist. He was one of the few male secretaries and he loved the position with his life. The pay was nice, he was able to fool around with his buddies- minus DJ Cooke; and, to top it off, woo any of the female clients (between you and me, he was never successful with the ladies).

On the other hand, DJ Cooke was a tall, well-built black man. He could easily get any girl that he wanted, but his downfall was his timid personality. DJ was too nervous to ask anyone out or even leave his house unless necessary. It was merely ironic as he could easily kill someone with a flick of his wrist. He currently worked at a veterinarian office across the street from Sundown Co., taking care of the few pets that made it through the busy Toronto streets. He loved his job like he loved his mother (and he loved his mother dearly). DJ could take care of animals, his job was almost always safe, and he could avoid getting dragged into his friends' mischief as must as possible. Little did he know, this timid fellow could never escape the trouble his companions would bring.

"Sounds awesome, man," Trent responded. He did not have plans that night and decided that he did need a break.

"Sweet! Meet us at eight at DJ's house. We're going to surprise him," Harold smirked mischievously. Trent waved to his friend and watched him step back into his cubicle.

It was six thirty. The night was young as the street lamps began to beam down on the city sidewalk. The tall buildings looked so dark and cryptic, like a horror film. The only lights the buildings brought off came from the mini windows of offices and large windows of department stores. Evening traffic blared loudly of honking cars and motors of city buses. Workers moved at fast paces throughout the crowd, past the homeless and nocturnal prostitutes.

Trent road the elevator, his office had provided for him, down to the garage where his car was parked. His eyes were glued to his a memo that his boss had left him with at the last minute. Most would rather take the bus to get around sue to rush hour, but Trent loved his corvette; it road nice, had good gas mileage, and was a beautiful green colour. His car was the most important thing in his life next to his guitar.

The metallic elevator door opened, creating a sound the echoed throughout the garage. Trent stepped out of the elevator, not moving his eyes from the page.

"Stop!" he heard a woman cry in a broken voice, "don't come any closer!" Trent's eyes shot up towards the voice. The woman, who stood before him, had a pale face. She had short teal hair, was rather short, and held a disturbed look on her face. Blood streaked against her stomach and dripped down her arms. Her ripped stocking rode up her skirt in shreds, revealing deeper cuts. She held the trigger of a gun, shakily, in her left hand, pointed at her head. The trigger of another gun was pointed directly at the nervous worker, which was held in her right. "S-stay back!" Tears streamed down her dirty face. Trent stepped back until his back hit the elevator door. He was unsure of what to do.

**So, how was it? Please R&R. Those who review get an elephant!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey. I'm back from my hiatus! Exams were not very hard this semester, but there was still a lot of work to be done. Ah, it feels great to write again! Anyways, thank you so much for the reviews, guys (I didn't expect this to actually get any attention considering what has been coming of this fandom lately). I'll try to update other stuff soon. Thanks to Munchlax Jr, NTA FANFIC, Andy Nonomous, Sandra19, Samtastic, Luiza TDI, and DittoDudette for their amazing reviews! I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. ^_^**

Meet Me at Sundown

Chapter II

LeShawna Winters sat at her desk, filling reports. LeShawna was a large black woman, blessed with a nice bust and trunk. Her mocha skin was greased with stress wrinkles as her job was very stressful. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, without a strain out of place. As chief of police, she made a fair wage. While not a protagonist in this story, she does bring significance. You see, the report she was currently dealing with was of the many violated women, most of which were missing or found dead. This report in particular had captured her heart, but she would never cry; she was too strong and bottled up with pride.

"Heather Wong," she said without looking up. She recognized the large figure who stood in the door way.

Owen Cohen was a large blonde man, who held a heart as big as his stomach. He had lost his father at a young age due to a lack of justice society had brought. So, he became an officer to bring justice to those who decide to go against the law. Despite this, Owen was often bubbly and full of energy, however he knew this was not the time.

Owen knew deeply that Heather was important to LeShawna. Her fearless girlfriend was filed as missing, but LeShawna would never fully accept it. There had to be some kind of catch. She couldn't be gone! LeShawna looked up at the big guy and raised a sorrowful eyebrow. Owen could see the hurt in his boss' chocolate eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed. The black woman nodded, kindly. "How long?" He whispered, not wanting to make it worse. If anything, he wanted to comfort his boss.

"Two weeks," she whispered in response, choking on her own words. It was difficult for her to make words come out.

"Oh," was all that Owen could say. He was at a loss for words. He knew that none of the women who were lost were found- everyone knew this.

"Fifty girls were filed today," LeShawna continued. "Boy, let me tell you! If I find out who's doing this, I'll be sure to kick their asses all the way to jail!" She said a little louder. She chucked lightly, a forced chuckle. Her voice dimmed again, "I don't know what to do, Owen; we've done all we could," she admitted sheepishly. LeShawna was never one to admit defeat so easily. She was not ready to give up now!

_Slam!_

A loud bang caused the officers' conversation to a halt. LeShawna jumped out of her seat and ran to the front door, with Owen trailing closely behind. A black hooded figure stood blocking the front door, wielding a large, police-enforced gun. What a character they were; hooded to make any gender- or rather appearance- to be inconceivable. All that could be told was that they wore a black ski mask that covered every inch of their face. The saggy sweater, worn by the trespasser, hung freely, hitting their black gloves, and baggy track pants. Wild laughter erupted from the figure's throat.

Then it was silent. Noah Cage, an officer who was lying under a desk, looked over at Owen. They shared a short gaze, until Noah mouthed, "The gun! The gun!"

Owen nodded and slid a gun, that he held in his belt, across the floor towards Noah. Noah quickly moved to where the weapon was being slid and caught it. He slowly returned to his spot under the table and waited for the right time to shoot. It was time. Noah dragged his torso ever so slightly from the table. Shakily, he targeted at the trespasser. He gulped, then pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He pulled it again. Still nothing. He glared at his co-worker, "There are no bullets, you idiot!" he mouthed, almost whispering, and moved back to lie on the ground under the table.

The figure, now staring blankly at Noah, laughed again. The figure then pulled out a pack of bullets from one of its pocket. The figure shook the bullets around in a playful way. "Looking for these?"

A sudden erupt of officers hopped up from the ground and ran to the gun closet, situated at the back of the room. They grabbed several guns and began rapidly shooting at the figure. Yet, no bullets came out. "Mother fucker..." LeShawna whispered. "How did he manage to remove all of those bullets?"

A loud voice, laced with a mocking tone, boomed from the figure, "You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say will be held against you! Nobody will speak unless I tell them to speak. Nobody will move unless I tell them to move! Follow these rules and nobody will get hurt!"

Police held hostage. Dumbfounded by how the bad guy got the upper-hand. Sometimes things need to change for the worse... and trust me, this would only get worse...

**Short chapter is short. Don't worry, I promise that the next one will be longer; I just decided to end this here for the sake of suspense. Next chapter will have our protagonists in it. So, please R&R. Those who R&R get Giraffes~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey. Another stupidly short update. I'm not sure how strong the grammar is in this chapter as I am not using a computer that doesn't have grammar check, but whateves. Between updates, I am going to be focusing on oneshots for my new series called, "Summer of Crack." It's basically a bunch of crack one shots for fandoms like Total Drama, RENT, Adventure Time, and Regular Show. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this short-ass chapter.**

**Meet Me at Sundown **

**Chapter III**

Trent moved back slowly until he felt his back hit the elevator door. The woman -the insane woman- was staring daggers through her blood shot eyes. She failed to move after cocking the gun in the business man's direction.

Trent's hand, which was now shaking like train tracks, struggled to find the buttons of the elevator. He felt the cool metal after he glided his hand up the cold bricks that made up the outside walls. The businessman was freaked out and couldn't even think. He struggled to speculate his next actions. All he knew was that he needed to get out of there and fast!

"Come any closer and I-I'll blow your brains out!" she managed out from her bloody blue lips. Although he was scared shitless, Trent could feel the trembling in the woman's voice; she wouldn't shoot even if she wanted to. Her blood-drenched words were only bluff. However, her unstable mind might have been able to draw her far enough to blow a bullet into his tanned flesh the moment he would change his gaze. Trent would not look away from her, in fear for his breaking life.

He slid his hand to the right, feeling the bump of the button. Trent moved his hand upwards to make sure he was on the right button and sure enough he was. He winced as he tried to force strength into his bewildered arm. When strength was found, Trent pressed it uncontrollably and waited. He waited. And waited. And waited…The elevator was taking too long!

He gulped, taking the extra time to really look at the woman. The sweat on her forehead bubbled up like soda, ready to pop any second. The cuts on her jawline streaked like scarlet velvet, streaming down her collarbone and soaking into the knife marks lying just above her fairly visible cleavage, shown by her shirt that was cut low. As shown by the stripped lines that lined up her stockings, revealing deep lashes that only a knife could cause, one could only come to the conclusion that she was violated. Trent found his mind again. He then debated briefly in his head before coming to the conclusion that she needed help, disregarding his previous predicaments… and not knowing the arising circumstances that would later come of his curious act.

He breathed in, looking at the lighted numbers on the elevator that told him what floor the elevator was on. Twelfth floor. _Damn_, he thought, _is it stopping on every floor or what?_ He directed his eyes towards the teal haired woman again. "Calm down," he managed out, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The tenseness in her shoulders weakened and she lowered the gun, slowly. Her timid expression failed to change; it was clear that any sudden movement would cause her to retrieve her guard once more. Trent nodded, smiling a forceful, but comforting smile. He held his hands out to show his innocence. He moved slightly closer to the woman. She made a notion to run or draw her gun again, but seized. Deep in her coal eyes, she was screaming for him, on the outside… fear. Trent walked slowly, step by step, clapping his feet on the ground, the garage echoed as each foot hit the ground. She dropped the gun, sending claps that surrounded them in a pool of anxiety. She clenched her fists, digging her long black nails so deep into her skin that it would surely leave scars if not come close to bleeding.

The silence was broken when Trent began his needed introduction, "Trent Monroe," he held out his hand, "I am here to help. And you?"

The woman starred at the open hand for a long while, allowing the businessman to reconsider his offer, before placing a stiff bloody hand in his and shyly shook, "Gwendolyn. I go by Gwen, though."

He nodded before asking: "Do you have a surname?"

She gave him an unsure shrug, "Not sure."

**Frig. It's like so difficult to make chapters long and suspenseful at the same time. I was going to add more and focus on Harold for a little bit, but I felt it would be more information. Does that count as a spoiler? Oh, wells. Stay tuned for next chapter. Those who review get naked mole rats!**


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